Soulbound: A Lone Star Witch Novel (5 page)

Heedless of the closed door, my mother rushes into my room, a large, gift-wrapped box clutched in her arms. I glance at her, glance at the box, but don’t say anything. Not that there’s anything to say—the fact that I’m packing even though it’s only Friday afternoon is pretty self-explanatory. If I’m lucky, I can be back in Austin by nightfall. After this morning, spending the Solstice and Christmas alone doesn’t seem so bad.

“What are you doing?” she gasps, dropping the box on the antique desk in the corner and rushing across the room to me. “Where are you going?”

Again, answering seems redundant. But the barely hidden tears in her voice give me pause, make me feel guilty despite myself. Dropping my favorite pair of jeans onto the bed, I turn to her. “I can’t do this, Mom. I can’t be who you want me to be.”

“That’s not true. I don’t you to be anyone but who you are.”

“Which is why you nearly killed me from belladonna poisoning today?”

She turns bright red, looks at everything in the room
but
me. “That was an accident. I promise, it will never happen again.”

Yeah, right. I point at the pretty pink and white polka dot box in the corner, a color scheme that is about as far away from who I am as that hot pink Dolce & Gabbana from my coming-out party was. “What’s in the box?”

If possible, she looks even guiltier—which just confirms my suspicions. “Oh, that. It’s nothing. Just a present for your sister.”

“Oh, yeah? Which one?” I stroll over to the box, carefully take off the bow. She hadn’t been all excited about giving this to one of my sisters when she’d come into the room. She’d wanted to give it to me.

“Umm, Hannah.”

“Really?” I rip the paper off the box, and it’s exactly as I suspect. A brand new pair of purple cowboy boots, size eleven. “Hannah wears a size eight, Mom.”

“Oh, right. My mistake. Sometimes I get confused between all you girls.” She stumbles over the lie—my mother is the sharpest queen our coven has ever had and she’s never been confused a day in her life. Suddenly her face brightens. “Well, since they are the wrong size, maybe you would like them? It would save me the hassle of having to take them back to the store.”

Raising an eyebrow, I just stare at her, waiting for her to crack. But she’s not royalty for nothing and now that she’s found her story, she’s sticking to it. “Come on, Xandra. Try them on. Hannah probably won’t like them anyway, since they’re not red.” She smiles encouragingly.

“I don’t do cowboy boots, Mom.” Not since my nineteenth birthday anyway. “You know that.”

“Yes, but these aren’t just any cowboy boots. They’re Luccheses.” She says the last with more reverence than she’s ever shown me.

“I don’t care. I don’t want them.”

“Please, Xandra. They’ll be good for you.”

“No. You mean they’ll be good for you. If I wear them, you can pretend—for a little while anyway—that
there’s still a chance that I’m not latent. But that’s not true, Mom. It doesn’t matter how many pairs of boots you buy me or how many different ways you can find to poison me. I’m never going to be the witch you want me to be.”

“That’s not true!” For a second I think she’s going to break form and tell me that she loves me, that I’m already exactly who I need to be. But then reality comes crashing in. This is my mother, after all. She proves I’m right when she continues, “We just need to try some new things…”

And then she’s off and running, leaving me far behind as she paints a picture of the glorious future I’ll have as soon as I stop being so stubborn and figure out how to beat this latency thing. She talks about it like it’s a disease to be cured. Or a mountain to be conquered.

But after a minute or so, I can’t take any more. It’s the same old thing I’ve heard a million times before, which just proves that I’m an even bigger sucker than I think I am. Not this time, though. This time I’m standing my ground, no matter what my mother says.

I turn my back on her. Start packing again. Tune her out completely as I focus on folding my underwear and jeans with the most perfect of creases. The sooner I get this done, the sooner I can leave.

“Please, Xandra, won’t you stay?” my mom asks, laying a tentative hand on my shoulder. “I know I made a mistake with the belladonna. It’s not one I’ll make again.”

Her voice wavers, just a little, and I can feel myself weakening. But I can’t do it, can’t go there. It will only make me crazy.

Though I’m not done with my clothes, I cross to the bathroom and start packing up my toiletries. I’m going for distance, but my mom follows me. I try to ignore her, but when I reach for my moisturizer I get a glimpse of
her in the mirror. She’s watching me, her amethyst eyes filled with tears. One spills out, tracks its way down her cheek and I know, belladonna poisoning or not, I’m not going anywhere. At least not before Christmas.

Damn it.

“Do you promise you’ll lay off the witch thing?” I ask her sternly. “No more potions, no more cowboy boots, no more magical charms?”

“I promise.” The tears disappear as she claps her hands in childlike excitement before throwing her arms around me. “No spells, no tarot cards, no shells, no stars. I’ll cancel everything.”

My stomach churns a little at her list. What exactly had she planned to do to me this weekend?

“How exactly do you cancel the stars, Mom?” I stand stiff in her exuberant hug, wishing I’d done a better job of holding out against her. “I kind of thought they were a nightly occurrence.”

She laughs a little nervously. “Don’t be silly, Xandra. You take everything so literally.”

It’s hard not to when I spent my morning recovering from being poisoned. I don’t say that, though. My mom already looks like she’s been kicked. Anything else would be total overkill.

Before I can poke around anymore about what is obviously a very elaborate plan for my weekend at home, there’s a knock on the door.

“Come in,” I shout as my mother busies herself pulling out everything that I had just put into my suitcase.

My brother, Donovan, sticks his head in the door. He’s the oldest of all my siblings and the only boy—both of which means he will one day take over the throne. He’s been raised with that understanding and while he spent a number of years running wild, he’s settled down in the last decade or so. His once wild black hair has been cut into a style even my father would approve of
and these days his blue eyes are more compassionate than turbulent.

At the moment, he’s focusing that compassion exclusively on me, and I have to admit it’s making me twitchy. Like there’s something I’m missing. But when he speaks, it’s to our mother and not me.

“Hey, there’s a woman at the door. Says her name is Salima and that you’re expecting her?” Though there’s nothing in his face or voice to give him away, the twitchiness morphs into uneasiness. Something is up, and as usual, I’m the last to know.

“Oh, of course.” My mother flutters her hands ineffectually—something she does only when she’s trying to act harmless—and the uneasiness becomes out-and-out dread. “I’d forgotten Salima was coming to dinner.”

She turns to me. “I can’t wait for you to meet her. She’s fantastic. You’ll love her.” She heads for the door. “Why don’t you wear your black dress to dinner? It’ll go great with your new boots.”

“What black dress?”

“That one.” She’s out the door before I can think of a response—my mother knows how to make an exit—and I’m left, staring at my bed. The black dress in question is spread out on the comforter, complete with bra, panties and socks to go under the boots. The kicker is I didn’t bring it from home. In fact, I’ve never seen it before in my life. It certainly wasn’t there five minutes ago.

“Go ahead and wear the dress,” Donovan says as he slings an arm over my shoulder. “It’ll give her a thrill. She’s really missed you.”

“Yeah, well, she has a funny way of showing it.”

He snorts. “Belladonna’s nothing. You should have seen me after she poisoned me with mandrake. She was a little overenthusiastic and I couldn’t get out of bed for three days.”

“When did she do that?” I couldn’t keep the surprise
from my voice. “Why would she do that? You’re not latent.”

“She did it long before you were even born. I was fifteen or sixteen and my magic was pretty weak. I think she was afraid that I was doomed to a life of pulling rabbits out of hats—which wasn’t exactly an optimum career choice for the crown prince. So she did what queens have done for centuries—took matters into her own hands.”

“Did it work?”

“Not even a little bit. For which you should be grateful or this morning would have been a whole lot worse.”

“Believe me. I am. The belladonna was more than bad enough.” But I’m also curious. “So when
did
your powers kick in? It’s not like anyone could exactly call your magic weak now.”

“It was a gradual thing. By the time I was eighteen, it was better, but a lot of what I’ve got going on has been building for thirty years or so, Xan.” He pauses, then sits on the bed—making sure not to crumple my new dress. “It could still happen for you, you know.”

“I doubt it. And what no one seems to understand is that I don’t want it to happen for me. I like my life, just the way it is.”

“Oh, yeah? Is that why you spend so much time running away from here? Because you’re happy with the way things are going for you?”

“I’m not running away. I just don’t come to visit very often because when I do, I get poisoned.”

“Hey, that’s an argument you can use the next time you come home, but it doesn’t explain your absence this time. She’s never poisoned you before.”

“How do you know? I did have a bad case of the flu when I came home for Christmas last year.”

He laughs, as I intended, but soon turns serious. “You know, I don’t like to give advice…”

“Who are you trying to kid? You live to give advice.”

“Only when I’m right. And I know I’m right on this.”

“You always think you’re right.”

He grabs my hand, holds tight. Nerves flutter deep inside me, but I beat them back. You learn early in the Morgan house that showing fear is a very bad idea. “Don’t spend so much time running from who you don’t want to be that you forget who you are.”

He pauses, like he’s just delivered the wisdom of the ages and this time, I’m the one who laughs. “Seriously? That’s the best you’ve got? You sound like a bad self-help book. Or a fortune cookie.”

“Xandra—”

“I’m fine, Donovan. Totally happy. And barring anymore run-ins with poisonous plants, I plan to stay that way. I don’t need magic in my life. I don’t want it.”

He doesn’t say anything for a minute, just keeps my eyes pinned with his. One of his gifts is truth-reading, but he has to be looking into your eyes when he does it. So I keep mine steady and ignore the little voice deep inside of me that warns me to look away. It’s the same voice that’s been screaming danger at me since I drove into town last night.

For long seconds, my brother doesn’t say anything. But I can feel him searching for the truth and it makes me a little sick. Not because I don’t believe what I’m saying, but because I need so badly for him to believe it too. I’m tired of being poor Xandra, the one everyone in the family—in the coven—feels sorry for. That’s why I like Austin so much. No one there expects me to be anything more than what I am.

“If that’s really the way you feel,” he finally says with a wry grin, “you might want to stay away from a couple of Mom’s dinner guests.”

The dread grows until my entire stomach feels encased in ice. “What has she done now?”

“Well, first off, she invited Micah to the pre-Solstice dinner and celebration.”

“Micah?” The dress suddenly makes perfect sense—especially its low neckline and high leg slit. “Why would she invite
Micah
?”

“Well, he is a witch doctor,” he answers, tongue completely in cheek. “I’m sure she thinks he can fix you.”

I flip him off. “I’m not broken. And if I was, there’s no way I’d let him get his fingers or his magic anywhere near me. Been there, done that.”

“Baby, there’s no way
I’d
let him get anywhere near you again. Doctor or not, the guy’s a scumbag.”

Scumbag is an understatement, but I don’t tell my brother that. The last thing I need is for him to turn Micah into a braying jackass at the kickoff of the biggest event of the year. Not that Micah doesn’t totally deserve it, but it’s been five years and I figure it’s time to grow up and let bygones be bygones. As long as I don’t actually have to break bread with the jerk while my mom does her best to lead us toward a happily never after.

“Why doesn’t she ever ask
me
before doing stuff like this?”

“Because she knows you’ll tell her not to.”

“She just promised me she wouldn’t do this anymore.” Then again, this had probably been put into motion a long time ago. I can’t hold it against her when she’d promised only ten minutes ago to call everything off.

“This is Mom. She’ll be pulling stuff like this until she’s six feet under. She can’t help it—the queen is used to getting her way.”

“Yeah, well, she needs to get unused to it.” My eyes narrow as I go over the last few minutes of conversation in my head. “Besides, I’m not worried about Micah. But you said there were two dinner guests I had to be concerned about. Who’s the other one?”

“The witch whisperer.”

“The witch what?”

“Whisperer,” he says with a grin. “You know, like those guys on TV. Horse whisperers, dog whisperers, cat whisperers…”

My eyes go wide. “Are you talking about those people who claim they can talk to animals and find out what’s wrong with them?”

“Pretty much.”

“But I’m not an animal. I am perfectly capable of communicating what’s going on inside of me—I don’t need someone to interpret that.”

“Hey, you’re preaching to the choir. I think Mom’s nuts to hire some woman to woo-woo her way inside of you and figure out why your powers are locked up.”

“Really? Woo-woo? Is that the technical term for what she does?” I know the sarcasm isn’t helping anything, but my irritation is escalating with each new revelation. Still, I try to calm down. “Besides, there’s nothing to worry about. Mom said she’s going to cancel all the weird things she has planned for me.”